


Abyss

by Oyakata_Manya



Category: Naruto
Genre: Drabble-esque, Dreams, Gen, Obito-centric, Paranoia, Surrealism, introspective, madara’s little cave of horrors, set before kakashi kills rin, unreality, you may have to use a magnifying glass to see the obirin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-26
Updated: 2020-04-26
Packaged: 2021-03-01 18:42:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,236
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23861749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Oyakata_Manya/pseuds/Oyakata_Manya
Summary: Some of Obito’s musings during his time in Madara’s cave.
Relationships: Nohara Rin/Uchiha Obito
Comments: 1
Kudos: 15





	Abyss

**Author's Note:**

> This is pretty rough. It was a bit of an exercise with myself, trying to get back into the swing of writing. Still, I hope someone enjoys this.

There are moments, in the depths of that dark and hidden cave, when Obito wonders if he truly has died and descended to the deepest reaches of Hell. 

Madara sleeps often; he is old and frail, clinging to life, to a decadent dream, by a single spindle fiber. Obito doesn’t care for the man—he is mad, and if Obito’s being frank, he frightens him, when he fixes those intense Sharingan, clouded with decades of hate and resentment, onto Obito’s form, and yet—

The cave frightens him more. 

There is something about the darkness, Obito thinks. 

Or perhaps it’s the isolation. 

But he swears he sees things, creeping in the shadows. In the black corners of the cave, something  _ other _ slithers, watches him. He can feel it, the breath of it acid hot down his neck when he lies in bed. 

And when he gets up, slowly steps towards the back of the cave with quivering newborn-fawn legs to take a piss; when he passes the bags of flesh hanging from the Gedo Statue, their hollowed out faces boring down and into him; and when passes Madara, sleeping peacefully on his throne—he feels it hunting him. 

What has he done to deserve this? Why did it have to be him? There are moments where he so, so certain he is about to die—

And then, Madara wakes. 

“How are you recuperating, boy?” He says. 

The feeling dissipates. Whatever it was that Obito was feeling is gone. Madara’s sharingan year into him. 

There is something undeniably  _ wrong _ about this place. 

* * *

  
  


When Obito sleeps, it is fitful and unfulfilling, tossing and turning and sweating in a feverish daze, and his dreams are strange, unreal and cryptic. He watches himself get buried in one, attends his own funeral. When the casket is opened, a body lies inside, but not his own—empty eye sockets, stuffed with maggots and festered with infection, stare back at him from the corpse of an Uchiha boy who must’ve died hundreds of years ago. 

“Obito, Obito,” Rin and Kakashi chant to the body. “We’re sorry we couldn’t protect you.”

_ No _ , he thinks, because his voice is clipped and cannot speak aloud,  _ I’m right here. I’m alive. Come and find me.  _

“Oh, Obito,” Says Minato-sensei, his eyes pitying as he mourns this mysterious, unnamed Uchiha, “Such a shame that you couldn’t live your dream.”

Obito cannot bear to look at them. He feels shame, at being here, in this place he has no right to exist in, and—and fear. They can’t see him, can’t hear him. He is trapped within a perpetual limbo of being unnoticed, unknown. 

When it is his turn, he steps up to the casket. He stares at the body inside, takes in the dark patches of dried blood against dead, lifeless white skin, and the dirtied, brittle strands of dark hair. He gazes into those hollow sockets, filled with blood-sucking insects and mud, and—

He is abruptly pushed away from the casket, and the next mourner in line takes his place. 

His chest heaves. His head spins. His throat lurches; he feels as though he may be sick. He closes his eyes, and Obito swears he can still see it—

For a moment, he swears he saw twin sharingan staring back at him. 

* * *

  
  
  


Sometimes, Obito wakes from a fever dream and finds himself back in Konoha. 

It’s such a sudden sensation. He feels the sunlight hit his skin like a whip, the warmth unfamiliar and sharp, and the light beats against his eyes. Beneath his feet is the dusty public path that he’s walked on so many times; he scuffs his sandal a bit against it, kicks up the dirt. The colorful silhouettes of buildings cut across the sky, and behind the Hokage Tower, the faces of the past Hokage simmer in the summer heat haze. 

He presses a hand against his forehead to keep the sun out of his eyes, takes a single step forward. And then another. 

The residents of Konoha are all abustle, smiling and chatting amongst themselves. Obito raises his hand to wave at a chunin buying dango from a sweets parlor, and to his astonishment, the chunin waves back, a delighted grin on his face. 

It isn’t a dream, then. 

Something surges in Obito—he’s back—he’s really!—he has to find Kakashi, and Minato-sensei, and—and Rin—

He has to find Rin—!

“Kakashi-kun!”

Obito freezes in place, a jolt of unexpected surprise rushing through him and like ice. Someone’s yelling behind him, but he can’t bring himself to turn around. That voice is—

A hand suddenly grasps his, warm and soft in its grip. “Kakashi-kun!” Rin repeats, and with a slow, visceral kind of horror, Obito turns to face her. “Let’s go get ramen together, Kakashi-kun!”

She’s talking to him. She’s calling  _ him  _ Kakashi. Obito feels as though he's going to be sick. This can’t be happening. 

His vision flickers for a moment, and then—something is terribly wrong. He sees Konoha, but he also sees the cave. He is cold, alone, lying in bed in the dark as Madara slumbers on his throne. The vision of Konoha—the world that Kakashi sees—fades further and further away, like a lilting, bittersweet lost dream. 

Obito crushes his eyes shut, grasps the sheets of bed with his good hand. He feels like he’s dying. 

He wants that world—that life— _ back _ . 

* * *

  
  


Time flows strangely down within the cave. It moves lackadaisically, without purpose. 

If one were to ask Obito how long he believes he’s been down here, he couldn’t give an answer to them. He’s asked Madara just that, numerous times, but the old man wouldn’t ever give him a solid answer. 

“Has your arm grown back yet?” The old Uchiha would ask, red eyes glaring at Obito as though he were the shit on his shoe. 

“Well… no.” 

“Then you have your answer.”

Some days, Obito wonders if it has been years; that can’t be it, it’s impossible; his arm hasn’t regrown completely and on top of that, his hair is still short, and yet—can’t it? Within a Tsukiyomi, days can pass in the span of minutes. Who’s to say that the same can’t be true within this cave?

He ponders this often. If it has been years, then how much had the outside world changed in that time? Does war still rage outside? Do Kakashi and Rin still fight in futile battles under the command of Minato-sensei, their pouches full of poison-dipped kunai and their hands worn and calloused from chakra flow, the thick stench of blood and death clinging to their clothes? Or have they moved up the ranks? Does Kakashi send his gemini into battle, face emotionless and cold as he says his goodbyes to child shinobi who won’t return alive? Does Rin wait patiently, tucked safe inside of the village as she waits for her lover to return from war, bruised, battered and fundamentally changed?

Obito bites his tongue, breathes deep. He can’t keep thinking about such things, it’s too much. He’ll kill himself like this. 

And yet—

He used to fear this cave. Today, he fears what may be lying in wait for him, on the other side of that boulder. 

Madara told him, once, what feels like millions of years ago, that the real world is Hell. Obito didn’t believe him then, and yet—

He wonders.   
  


.


End file.
